


Family Ties

by Evandar



Series: Constellations [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Alphard Black Dies Earlier, Don't copy to another site, Fix-It, Implied Orion Black/Alphard Black, Incest, M/M, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Sibling Incest, Sirius Black Fest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2020-12-23 19:34:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21086654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evandar/pseuds/Evandar
Summary: No matter how much Sirius wants to run away, he can't abandon Regulus. Especially not now that their mother is trying to shove him into the service of a Dark Lord. Fortunately for Regulus, there's very little that Sirius wouldn't do to save him.(It's a terrible plan, really, but Sirius is nothing if not spontaneous.)





	Family Ties

**Author's Note:**

> I had far too much fun writing this.

He catches up to Regulus at the Floo. 

Conversation over dinner had been stilted, as always. Uncle Alphard’s death has seen their father spending more time in his study, losing himself to grief, and their mother becoming more vitriolic, preaching violence and purity at every turn. She’d been on about the new Dark Lord tonight. A paragon of pure blood values, she’d called him, and she’d dropped heavy hints in Regulus’ direction that a life in his service would be of benefit to the Ancient and Most Noble, etc. She’d talked about a rally he was holding, this Voldemort person, and about all the young purebloods who would be in attendance. 

Sirius, she’d ignored. He likes to think she’s given up on him entirely - that he could run far, far away and that she wouldn’t even notice. 

He can’t abandon Regulus, though, no matter how much venom his brother spits at him. Sirius isn’t blind. He’s seen the weight of their mother’s words weighing on Regulus’ shoulders. He watched tonight as his brother shrank back into his seat as far as etiquette would allow; he watched the panic set in just before Regulus’ occlumency shields rose. Heard the hesitation as he murmured “yes, mother.”

He was _going_ to run away tonight. He can’t now. Not now he knows what path his brother will be pushed down in his absence. James and the warm welcome of the Potter house can wait a bit longer. 

Sirius can’t walk away from this. He’d never be able to forgive himself. 

His mind made up, he waits for his brother in the shadows next to the fireplace, and he catches Regulus as he reaches for the Floo powder. His brother is swathed in a black cloak despite the balmy summer weather, and under his hood his face is set in grim lines. 

He looks far older than he should. Drawn and pale like this, he looks very like Uncle Alphard in those last few days. His elbow, under Sirius’s grasp, is bone-thin, and Sirius feels a stab of grief. Regulus has always been a tiny slip of a boy, delicate in ways that even Sirius - hardly the tallest, brawniest person in the world - isn’t. Right now he looks downright waifish. Gaunt. He’s always been Sirius’ favourite relative despite the distance that’s grown between them since they started Hogwarts, and seeing him like this so close to Uncle Alphard’s death - his _second_ favourite relative’s death - has only underlined what Sirius has known for years:

He’s a selfish, spiteful bastard at the best of times, but when it comes down to it, there’s very little that he won’t do for his brother. 

Fortunately for Regulus, Sirius actually has a plan. It’s not a great one. In fact, it’s rather rushed and badly put together, and it depends far too much on both Regulus and their grandfather cooperating with him. Still, though, it should work.

“What the hell are you doing?” Regulus hisses at him. With his eyes narrowed and his lip curled back, he looks rather like the irritable feline that Sirius suspects his animagus form would be. 

“Stopping you from being an idiot,” Sirius informs him. 

Regulus’ scowl is downright impressive. He _bristles_. “That’s rich, coming from you,” he sneers, and the bite of his words is cold as the Arctic.

Sirius ignores the insult as best he can, feeling his jaw tighten regardless. He loves Regulus to pieces, adores him utterly, but honestly, his brother is just as much of a dickhead as the rest of their charming relatives. 

“You’re going to that rally tonight?” Sirius asks, and when Regulus gives a short, silent nod, he sighs. “Then you’re a bigger moron than I am, brother mine. Pureblood rights? From a bloke of so high and mighty a lineage that he hides behind a fake name? Bet he’s a mudblood.”

James, if he’d heard that, would have smacked him one. Remus might well have murdered him for it. What they both like to forget is that Sirius might, now, be slightly reformed from his family’s ways, but he’s still one of them. He walks the walk and talks the talk and bites his tongue more often than not, but he’s a Black. He knows how the people this Dark Lord will draw to him think. He knows how they act, the airs they give themselves. He knows the pride they have for their vaunted lineages, and the exact combination of distrust, hate, and disgust they have for those they see as lesser than themselves. 

Besides, it’s not like Regulus - ready to go to a fucking _Dark Lord’s rally_ on the subject - is going to have a fit of the vapours over Sirius using a slur. Once. Actually, Sirius is hoping it’ll shock him into listening. 

Sure enough, Regulus raises his brows and peers up at him with just a hint of reservation on his face. “You think so?” he asks. 

“If he’s preaching pureblood superiority and he’s not using his real name? There’s something fishy about it, don’t you think?”

Regulus nods again. “Mother says he’s the Heir of Slytherin,” he says, and it’s not really an argument. Not enough of one, anyway. 

“Maybe he’s a halfblood, then, hiding his Muggle name with a made-up one,” Sirius says. “Look, you know our history. You know as well as I do the Dark Lords we’re descended from, all of them proud to be Blacks. To use their name - our name.”

“Again, rich coming from you, given how desperate you are to abandon us all,” Regulus snaps, back on the defensive. “Aren’t you supposed to be running off with Potter this summer? Making _me_ the _fucking_ heir?”

He sounds so bitter about it that Sirius winces. He doesn’t question how Regulus knows: his brother is rather too good at Divination, and more than once Sirius has found him pouring over his tarot cards with tears in his eyes. He doesn’t ask about the things he Sees. He learned not to early on, when Regulus would tell him stories of dark lakes filled with grasping hands and gave them both nightmares as a result. But still, Sirius can’t help but wonder just how many times Regulus has Seen this conversation, how many times he’s watched Sirius run away and his own steps lead him into the service of a Dark Lord. How tired he must be of being abandoned, even though Sirius hasn’t even done it yet. Even though he _won’t_. 

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Sirius snarls back. “Right _fucking_ here, Reg.” He huffs out a breath and loosens his grip on Regulus’ elbow so that he isn’t squeezing so hard. He rubs his thumb over the delicate joint instead, and he watches as his brother’s cheeks redden in response.

“My point is, no matter what mother says, no self-respecting pureblood would hide behind a fake name. And I changed my mind. I’m not going to James’,” he says. “And you aren’t going to that rally.”

Regulus scoffs, but he says nothing as Sirius reaches up to the dish on the mantelpiece and grasps a handful of Floo powder. There’s a flicker of something that’s might be hope in his eyes, and Sirius swallows the last of his doubt. This - everything - will be worth it. 

...

Most people forget that their father is not Lord Black. Most likely, it’s because they prefer to forget that Grandfather Arcturus is still alive. He’s a recluse, and he has been since Grindelwald was defeated. Their father sits in his place on the Wizengamot and the Hogwarts school board, politicking to his heart’s content - and given that Sirius and Regulus both learned to read from crusty old legislation, Sirius knows his father truly does enjoy it. 

Arcturus Sirius Black lives at the Black family estate, in the ancient castle that one of their more pretentious ancestors built. It’s surrounded by the ancient earthworks of the Bronze Age hill fort their first ancestors sprung from, and a stone circle still stands on the grounds. 

They come for Yule, usually. As children, he and Regulus spent hours wandering the draughty halls, exploring hidden passageways and unused rooms, talking to ghosts and portraits and avoiding the too-pale eyes and decaying hands of their grandfather. They would play in the snow together, then; dancing twisted paths through the standing stones and trying to catch glimpses of the dead. They never quite managed; never anything beyond a faint blue-ish outline, or a whisper on the wind.

Grandfather Arcturus is the last true necromancer in the Black line. It’s an old gift, mostly eradicated by time and intermarrying with other families. There’s a reason why it’s called _Black magic_, after all: it belongs to the Blacks. Both he and Regulus have a touch of it - Sirius’ animagus form is a grim for a reason, and Regulus’ Sight is a symptom too – but neither of them have enough to claim the gift as their own. 

Sirius is glad it seems to be fading from the bloodline. He’s firmly of the opinion that Grandfather Arcturus, with his blackened fingers and his habit of talking to people who died centuries ago, is the creepiest person he’s ever met. The fact remains, however, that he is the true Head of the Blacks. Their paterfamilias. The one with all of the power over members of their illustrious bloodline. 

He looks up when the Floo spits them out onto the antique rug. Grandmother Melania looks up as well, pausing in her knitting. Sirius spies the shape of tiny booties and remembers that Aunt Dorea is expecting. 

Oh, yes. James had said he was going to be busy this summer, with a new cousin and everything. Far too busy for Black family drama, really, though he hadn’t exactly told Sirius he _couldn’t_ stay. 

He straightens his spine and turns to face his grandfather. The dark magic has spread since he last saw him, turning Arcturus’ pinched mouth a blueish-black. Black veins spread up one side of his face, and his eyes are glittering pale and hooded. 

Creepiest. Person. Ever. 

Sirius doesn’t shudder. He knows better. Over the years, the horror that is his family has been hexed out of him. 

“Good evening, Grandfather,” he says, and despite the roiling in his gut, his voice doesn’t shake. “Grandmother. Regulus and I were hoping to have a moment of your time.”

Grandfather Arcturus studies him for a moment before inclining his head. “Very well,” he says. His voice is barely more than a dry whisper, but it carries - and the sound of it slides down Sirius’ spine like snake skin. The hair on the back of his neck prickles and goosebumps rise along his arms. 

They follow their grandfather out of the room, leaving the warmth of the fire and the sound of clicking needles behind them. They follow him through cold, winding corridors to the little chamber he keeps as a study. The hearth bursts into flame when the door opens, but a chill remains in the air. A small skull peers down at them from one of the looming bookcases: a different Sirius, the older brother of Phineas Nigellus, who had died young. Grandfather Arcturus used to tell them that Young Sirius (as he died at the age of eight) likes to watch the family’s goings on. 

Sirius wonders, if their grandfather’s claims are true, what his deceased namesake is going to make of this one. 

“You wanted to see me?” Grandfather Arcturus asks, settling himself into a chair. He invites neither of them to sit - a clear sign that they’re imposing on his evening. 

Sirius licks his lips. “Yes, Grandfather,” he says. He hesitates. It’s just for a second, but it’s long enough to see his new future stretching out in front of him - almost as if he’s the Seer and not Regulus. His friends aren’t going to understand this. They’re going to think he’s gone mental - maybe he _has_ gone mental. They aren’t going to understand why Sirius has decided to do this, why he’s going to stay when he could have done as he’s always wanted and _left_. He already knows that they see nothing redeemable in Regulus and his sneaky, Slytherin ways; that his brother is only exempt from their typical anti-Slytherin pranks because Sirius asked it of them. He knows that they won’t understand why Sirius is willing to do anything - to do _this_ \- for him.

Regulus is silent next to him, still shrouded in his cloak. He’s pulled his hood down to be polite, but the fall of his black hair obscures his face from Sirius’ quick glance. 

Good. He’s not sure he actually wants to see Regulus’ expression when he says this. 

Sirius takes a deep breath and meets their grandfather’s gaze head-on. “Regulus and I wish to marry, Grandfather,” he says. “We desire your blessing, and a contract drawn up to bind us.”

Next to him, Regulus starts; gives the tiniest of sharp inhales. It’s minuscule, but it’s enough to draw their grandfather’s attention to him. 

“Sirius speaks truly, Regulus?” he asks. 

Shit. Sirius was hoping that Regulus wouldn’t be called on to support him on this until after he’d made his case. 

“He does,” Regulus says, not a hint of the lie audible in his voice. “My heart has long belonged to my brother.”

Yes, it has, because Reg is a perverted little wanker like that, and Sirius is - now - glad of it, if only because it means that Regulus is backing him up on this. 

“I’m aware,” their grandfather says, dry as dust, because Regulus’ incestuous infatuation is an open secret. “I had heard, however, that Sirius here was dallying on with some uppity little halfblood.”

Sirius blinks. That’s news to him, although he’d wager the halfblood in question is probably Remus. People tend to get that impression about them, for some reason.

“I am not,” he says, managing to sound utterly offended by the idea while simultaneously sending up a silent apology to his friend. “My interests lie with my brother,” he continues. He takes a deep breath. “We own brother wands, Grandfather. Our magical signatures are compatible enough that the right potions would make an heir possible. And we care for each other. Deeply.”

This is, he knows, a ridiculous idea. In any other family than theirs, it would be an inconceivable solution. It wouldn’t be a solution at all. In a family less rampantly deranged, he and Regulus would both be sent to mind healers and made to live apart from each other. But the Blacks have always been inclined towards incest. Toujours Pur is their motto for a reason. The family conscriptus - the ancient document that outlines the rules and regulations for whom they may wed - forbids halfbloods and Muggleborns, but allows relationships between cousins and siblings. 

Granted, it’s an old tradition. There have been more marriages into other families than not in the last hundred years or so – certainly, the family tree on display at Grimmauld Place only has their parents’ marriage to prove it. The _real_ family tree, the one that hangs here, in the great hall for all to see (if anyone actually _came_ to this bloody mausoleum) is proof enough to show that these last hundred years have been an exception. 

Grandfather Arcturus laces death-bitten fingers under his chin and studied them both in silence. The sapphire of the family ring he wears gleams in the firelight. Not for the first time, Sirius thinks it looks heavy. 

When he was small, he thought he’d inherit it from his father after he in turn had inherited from Arcturus. Until earlier this evening, he’d convinced himself that the ring - and the attached lordship - would pass to Regulus instead. Now, he knows otherwise: he will be the heir, just as he’s never wanted. Their father, he suspects, won’t outlive Uncle Alphard for much longer, while Grandfather Arcturus is unfairly spryfor someone who bears a remarkable resemblance to an Inferius. 

“Very well,” their grandfather says after a while. “You have my blessing. The contract shall be drawn up in the morning.”

“Thank you, Grandfather,” Sirius says. He hears Regulus echo him. 

“If I may make another request?” Sirius asks. 

Their grandfather hums. It occurs to Sirius that this is probably the most entertainment he’s had from the living since the war ended. 

“Mother wishes for Regulus to join the ranks of this new Dark Lord,” Sirius continues. “I - and Regulus agrees with me - believe it is undignified for a member of a family such as ours to kiss the robe-hems of a man who conceals his true identity. I formally request that all subservience to political figures is contractually forbidden - for both of us - lest our marriage be rendered void.”

“As heirs to the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black, our loyalty should be to family first,” Regulus says. 

It’s enough. Their grandfather nods. “Very well,” he says. “It shall be done.” He stands from behind his desk, and waves a hand towards the door. “I presume you both wish to stay the night, having escaped your parents to make your request. The Elves will ready your rooms. Or do you plan to share?”

If he was planning to catch them out, it doesn’t work. Sirius grins widely at him instead, just as Regulus makes a soft, mortified noise under his breath. 

“Out,” their grandfather says, and thus they are banished. 

...

“You’re a lunatic,” Regulus informs him once the door to their room is securely closed. 

It’s the bedroom that Sirius always used as a child, decorated with a grisly set of tapestries depicting Betelgeuse the Black’s bloody campaign against the Muggle religion, and dominated by an enormous four-poster bed. The bed is big enough for him and Regulus to share without touching each other, although that seems rather pointless now. 

“Probably,” Sirius agrees. 

“You had your way out,” Regulus tells him. “You could have...” he trails off, looking away in a way that suggests that the future he’d Seen hadn’t been the sunshine and roses that Sirius had hoped it would be. 

It doesn’t matter. It’s lost to him now.

He steps closer. He reaches out and cups Regulus’ face in his hands, forcing his brother to look at him. He looks exhausted, but all the same, Sirius can see his pupils dilate as he realises their proximity. He hears Regulus’ breath catch, feels one of his slender hands curl around his wrist. 

“It’s not what I had in mind,” Sirius admits, “but that doesn’t mean I’m not happy with the way it’s turning out so far.”

Regulus blushes. It’s the prettiest, palest blush Sirius has ever seen, and the tiny smile that accompanies it is something he wants to see every day for the rest of his life. He hasn’t seen Regulus smile like this in years, and he’s only just realising that he’s been missing it. 

“I love you, Reg,” he says, and he means it wholeheartedly.

He leans in and kisses the tip of Regulus’ nose. When his brother doesn’t object, he lowers his lips again, kissing Regulus full on the mouth. The hand around his wrist tightens, and he feels Regulus sigh against him. 

Their mother is going to be furious. His friends won’t understand in the slightest. His one chance at leaving is gone for good, and his fate tied forever with that of his family, with his little brother. 

He pulls Regulus closer, kisses him deeper, and finds that he doesn’t mind at all.


End file.
